


Dragonslayer

by strongone



Category: Mother 3
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Gen, Past Abuse, Past Brainwashing, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-18 14:01:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18121910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strongone/pseuds/strongone
Summary: "I don't think. I can't allow myself the luxury. I've lived with fear since I was a child."- Ágota Kristóf; The Notebook, The Proof, The Third Lie: Three NovelsA story about the repercussions of hasty actions. Updates every Thursday.





	1. I was born a pair but walk alone. [Duster.]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old Gemini by Radical Face
> 
> "And I am never singular  
> I was born a pair but walk alone  
> My mirror shows the things I'm not  
> But he helps me feel at home"
> 
> [Beginning of Arc 1 - The Escape]

The fatigue of a long night of performing his music has finally set in for Duster. Maybe it had already set in hours ago, but he’s only feeling the effects now that he’s been off stage for a while. He’s sitting at the bar, waiting for when the clock ticks over to the next hour and the place finally closes, nursing a water. He does have to drive himself home, after all.  
  
This all is interrupted when Kumatora comes up next to him, leans her elbow on the table, and seems to have something to say. She doesn’t speak immediately, looking him in the eyes for a few seconds as he stares back, waiting for the eventual discussion of whatever’s big enough in Kumatora’s mind that it requires talking to him about it. Kumatora starts speaking with the level of confidence of if she’d been invited to talk to him - she wasn’t, but he’s alright with that.  
  
“Hey, Lucky.” She always uses the stage name when she’s trying to ask him to do something. It’s good he’s hard to bother. “There’s this kid in the bar. Over in the corner near the door.”  
  
He gives the kid a quick glance. Said kid is definitely a chimera, if the red eyes with black sclera and the metallic, clawlike right arm he rests on the table have anything to say about it, but otherwise he’s completely normal - for this place, at least.  
  
“If he’s eighteen, he’s allowed to be in here,” Duster mumbles, taking a sip of his ice water. He is currently past the point of caring about if people who are _probably_ adults are in a bar that he only kind of works at.  
  
“No -” She groans, running a hand through her vividly pink hair, then brushing it out of her eyes once it falls in front of them, “he looks like he’s not okay, Duster. I don’t know what’s up with him, but someone has to talk to him, and I’m not gonna do that when I’m buzzed. I’ll say something stupid. Go talk to him.”  
  
Duster takes another look over at the kid, although this time he lingers a bit longer on him. Now that he’s not just glancing, he begins to see the signs - bags under his eyes, messy hair, slouched over himself as far away from other people as he possibly can be. He had noticed the kid earlier in the day, but really thought nothing of him, given that he was busy on stage.  
  
“We always get people who look like that. I’m one of the people who looks like that. I don’t want to bother him.”  
  
Another groan. “Look, do I have to spell it out for you?”  
  
“Probably, yeah.”  
  
“He’s a chimera in _this_ city. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days! He probably doesn’t have anywhere to go, Duster. Just fucking talk to him, alright? Make sure he’s okay. Then you can come back and mope over a glass of water.” She looks away like she always does when she’s caught caring for others.  
  
“Alright, I guess I’ll do it, but you’re the designated driver next time we go out drinking,” he replies, rising from the rickety stool he’d been sitting on. “Watch my drink for me.”  
  
“It’s water, Duster.”  
  
He doesn’t have half the brain to make a witty comment normally, let alone now, so he makes his way across the sea of empty tables toward the corner. The kid seems to realize that Duster is approaching him at some point, but doesn’t really make much of an expression, still keeping the timid look he’s had for the entire time he’s been here, albeit watching Duster now. Standing a fair distance away so that he doesn’t him uncomfortable, Duster clears his throat, despite the kid already looking in his general direction. It’s not eye contact, but Duster won’t judge that. He barely makes eye contact himself.  
  
Before Duster can get a single word in, to his surprise, the kid speaks up quietly.  
  
“I heard what you guys were talking about.” Ah. Chimeras do get their hearing enhanced. At least, he thinks they do.  
  
“You know what I’m going to ask, right?” The kid nods.  
  
“I think I do, yeah. At least, I can guess.”  
  
“Are you okay, then? I just need to make sure.”  
  
There’s obvious reluctance to say anything from the kid. He even glances away for a few seconds, but returns to looking near Duster after a while, slowly beginning to speak.  
  
“I’m running out of money and the last time I slept was… it was on the bus the way here, which was two days ago, which… probably means no.” There’s a certain rise in the kid’s intonation at the end of his sentence, as if he’s asking permission to not be okay.  
  
Duster tries hard not to let a concerned look slip onto his face, but from the small, upset frown that the kid gives, he knows he’s failed. Running a hand through his hair, he glances away, trying to form words in response. He knows what he has to do at this point, and he’s just going to pray it doesn’t get him mugged in his sleep. It probably won’t. The kid seems nice, and Duster is probably the lightest sleeper ever according to Kumatora when she’s had to stay on his couch.  
  
“Do you need somewhere to stay? I only have one bedroom, but you can sleep on my couch. I know this is kinda out of nowhere, but my friend asked me to talk to you, and she’d kill me if I didn’t at least offer.” He speaks slowly as well, trying not to scare the kid with suggestion or make it seem mandatory.  
  
The kid blinks, then stares. “You don’t even know my name.”  
  
“You can tell me it, then. You probably know my stage name. My... real name is Duster.”  
  
The kid hesitates for a few seconds, mouth slightly open as if he’s trying to figure out where to go with what he’s saying. Duster really can’t think of why. A name is just a name, right?  
  
“It’s Lukas. My name.” Somehow, Lukas doesn’t look like a Lukas to him, but he can’t think of any other names that’d fit better. “I think I’m gonna say yes to sleeping on your couch.” Lukas yawns, then rubs at his mechanical eyes with his oversized clawed hands. “You just… gotta promise that you won’t look in my backpack.”  
  
Again, his intonation sounds like he’s asking permission to want privacy. Duster doesn’t like to imagine why Lukas is avoiding telling him outright how he’s feeling and what he wants, but he has a few rough guesses as to why that could be.  
  
As for the thing about the backpack - Duster seriously considers asking why for a few seconds, but then supposes that he doesn’t really care. Lukas doesn’t seem like the type to hurt anyone from the brief conversation he’s had with him, so he doubts whatever he has is harmful. Duster won’t pry. Despite his curiosity, he does want to respect Lukas’s privacy as much as he can. He’s not good with people, let alone teenagers, but he does know that people like it when you don’t invade their privacy. Or, well, he knows that he likes it.  
  
“Alright. I need to go tell my friends that I’m leaving. Just wait here for me, okay?”  
  
All he gets is a nod in response, and that’s really all he needs. He wades his way back to Kumatora, who’s sitting next to his glass of water and drinking what he’s fairly confident is a beer - not that that’s a surprise, really. She also seems to have gotten herself some fries. The employee discount on fries really is killer.  
  
“Lukas is going to stay at my place for a while.” At her confused look, he clarifies. “Lukas is the kid.”  
  
She seems to take a moment to process the name, then nods. “Good. Guess I can’t sleep on your couch anymore?”  
  
“You have your own apartment and you have for years now. You don’t need to sleep on my couch.” He can’t help but let confusion seep into his tone, even though Kumatora might just be messing with him.  
  
“Sometimes you gotta do things for the thrill.”  
  
Duster isn’t quite sure what to make of that, given that all Kumatora does when staying over at his place is eat all his food and watch reruns on the Happy Box, but he doesn’t question it. Sometimes, that’s for the best.  
  
“I’ve gotta go. Say goodnight to the rest of the DCMC for me?”  
  
“Yeah, yeah. Get out of here, Duster.”  
  
Duster picks up his glass of water and takes a long drink of it, then sets it back down on the bar. Back to Lukas he goes. His bad leg doesn’t feel sore, given that he’s done more physical activity on it than this in the past, but it is bothering him that he has to do this much hobbling around when he’s this tired. At least he’ll be back home soon and able to rest. He’s certain that Lukas being there will make it harder to sleep, but that’s alright. After all, Lukas does need a place to stay. What kind of person would he be if he didn’t let him  
  
Eventually he makes his way back to Lukas, who stands when Duster gets over to him, picking up his backpack from the ground. It’s not a particularly large backpack, nor a particularly well-made one if the rips in it are anything to go off of. He can’t see what’s inside, and he doesn’t ask.  
  
“My car’s outside. It’s a quick drive. You can sleep in the car, if you want.”  
  
Lukas nods. They make their way outside.  
  
In the light of the streetlamp, as opposed to the dim, flickering light of the bar, he can see Lukas more clearly. He is wearing a grey tank top and black sweatpants, along with combat-esque boots that seem completely unfitting for who he is. His hair is a vivid red. Duster can’t help but feel something is off about this. He can’t name what.  
  
Lukas also seems to have a jagged scar directly over his right eye. Duster does not ask why, and does not plan to. It’s probably personal.  
  
They walk to the car in the light of the streetlamps, the dark city sky lacking stars to see by. The towering buildings loom over them. Duster has always been threatened by this city, and he always will be.  
  
It’s better than Tazmily, though.  
  
Duster brushes the snow off the door handle to his car, then gets in and unlocks the car from the inside. Lukas climbs in the passenger seat a bit awkwardly, setting his ragged backpack down on the floor of the car.  
  
The drive is quick. There’s barely any traffic at this time. They pull up to the building Duster’s apartment is in. Duster sees that Lukas is asleep and quietly considers the options as to how to wake him up without scaring him.  
  
“Lukas? We’re here,” he says in a slightly louder voice than usual. Lukas’s eyes snap open and dart over to Duster. They are wide, but then return to normal when he realizes that it’s just him.  
  
“Sorry.”  
  
“It’s fine! I said you could sleep in the car."  
  
Lukas nods, then picks his backpack up from the car floor. They both get out of the car and trek through the light snow, then up the staircase to Duster’s apartment. Duster fumbles with his keys for a few seconds, but manages to find the right one fairly quickly. Unlocking the door, he enters, Lukas following close behind.  
  
Lukas’s face upon looking over the apartment seems underwhelmed. That’s an okay reaction to Duster’s apartment, though - it’s not very well kept, but it does have fairly nice furniture for someone living in this city. (So not that nice at all.) He looks down at Lukas.  
  
“I don’t really have much, but if you want something to eat, I can make you something.”  
  
This gets another nod from Lukas. “I’m kinda hungry. I would’ve bought something back at the bar, but everything costed a lot, and I wasn’t sure if I was gonna have anywhere to go. I was saving for a hotel.”  
  
“That’s okay. Sit down wherever,” Duster says. There are really only two places to sit in the apartment - the couch, which has a patchwork quilt on it but aside from that is not particularly comfortable, and a few wooden chairs next to the table in the kitchen. Lukas chooses a chair in the kitchen, closest to the door.  
  
Going over to the fridge, Duster opens it up. There really isn’t much, but there’s enough to make a sandwich. Sandwiches are good enough, probably. Lukas doesn’t seem like the type to have high standards for food.  
  
Lukas taps his sharp fingers on the table lightly. The rhythm of the tapping seems quick and disjointed, not like any musical time signature he’s aware of, but still in a definite pattern. It makes Duster uneasy. He doesn’t mention it, though, just going about putting two slices of bread into the toaster.  
  
“I forgot to ask, uh - how old are you, Lukas? You don’t look like you were old enough to be in the bar.”  
  
“I’m twel-” he cuts himself off, then quickly backs up and restarts. “Sorry, I meant that I’m nineteen. I’m old enough, I just can’t drink.” Duster decides not to comment on how Lukas started his sentence. Everyone says the wrong thing sometimes, and it sounded like he was about to say twelve. He’s obviously older than that.  
  
“They might serve you drinks there, actually. No one really cares how old you are, as long as you’re not either really young or starting problems.” Duster pauses, then quickly speaks again. “I’m - I’m not saying you should drink! Please don’t.”  
  
Lukas chuckles a bit. It sounds forced. “I won’t.”  
  
There’s a period of silence. Duster doesn’t know what to say, so he changes the topic.  
  
“Where are you from? You aren’t from around here.”  
  
“Is it that obvious?” There’s a bit of a joking tone in Lukas’s voice, but it dies down into a quiet, flat tone in his next sentence. “I’m from, uh… Tazmily Village.”  
  
Duster blinks in surprise, going a bit tense at the mention of his old hometown. “I used to live there.” Wait, no, he can’t talk about himself. That invites questions. Instead, he keeps the topic on Lukas. “You’re, uh… I didn’t recognize you at first, but you’re one of Hinawa and Flint’s kids, right?”  
  
Lukas’s tapping stops, now simply leaning his right arm on the table. His breathing is just a bit quicker. “I… yeah. You moved away before…” Lukas doesn’t continue, looking away. There’s a scraping sound from his claws on the table.  
  
“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
He doesn’t continue. There is silence until the toast pops up in the toaster. Both of them flinch.  
  
Duster takes a plate from the cupboard, then places the toast on it. He looks over at Lukas, who is staring intently at the ground. At least he’s breathing more normally now.  
  
“Do, uh. Do you want ham and cheese or peanut butter and jelly?”  
  
“Peanut butter and jelly. I don’t really like cheese.”  
  
Duster nods, grabbing the peanut butter and the blueberry jelly from the cupboard and a butter knife from the silverware drawer. He quickly makes the sandwich, puts the knife in the sink, and then places the plate on the table next to Lukas.  
  
“Thanks.” Lukas eats. Duster gets himself a string cheese and a water bottle from the fridge, and gets Lukas a water bottle as well. He sets it next to him.  
  
They both eat in silence for a while, Lukas eating both neatly and quickly. He eats faster than should be comfortable. Again, Duster can assume why, but he doesn’t comment. Somehow, Lukas isn’t clumsy when eating at all, despite his hands being large and clawed. The entire way he moves is strange - fluid despite the impracticality, like he’s had the mechanical arms his entire life.  
  
But he couldn’t have had them all his life, Duster knows. He remembers Lucas from Tazmily vaguely. Lucas and his brother Claus. Lucas was always the timid one, and Claus was always the loud and extroverted one. It seems Lukas has kept his timidness for his entire life.  
  
Wait, didn’t Lucas have blond hair?  
  
He decides not to question it. He’s probably just wrong - he has been trying to forget that part of his life for the entirety of the rest of it, after all.  
  
They both finish eating quickly. Duster looks up at the clock on the wall and rubs his eyes just from the realization of how long he’s been awake.  
  
“I think I need sleep. You should sleep too, Lukas.”  
  
Lukas nods, getting up slowly - the backpack still slung around one of his shoulders - and picking up the plate from his snack. He holds it very gently. Duster is amazed that he doesn’t scratch or break it. Lukas places it in the sink, then looks up at Duster.  
  
“On the couch, right? Can I keep the quilt for the night?”  
  
“Yeah. I’m not going to make you sleep in the cold. I don’t have a spare pillow, but I could give you mine.”  
  
“That’s okay. Thanks, Duster.” For the first time, he gets a smile out of Lukas - even if it’s a tiny smile, he still considers it an accomplishment.  
  
“No problem. Sleep well, alright?”  
  
Another nod.  
  
Duster smiles in return, then makes his way over to his bedroom about as gracefully as a man who has a paralyzed ankle can. Once he’s inside his room alone, he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He turns off the lights, lays down, and pulls the blanket up over himself. He closes his eyes.  
  
For once, sleep comes easy to him.  
  
For once, he does not have a nightmare that he cannot remember.  
  
For once, he remembers.  
  
He dreams about himself as a younger man. There is a concert, far bigger than any he’s ever played at, and he and the rest of the DCMC are on center stage. They are performing one of their original songs - one that Duster wrote himself.  
  
There are thousands of adoring fans cheering his stage name and the names of his bandmates, screaming their love for them. There is no end to the flock of them. They go on forever. Somehow, in the endless expanse of adoring fans, he still feels trapped.  
  
The song finishes and there’s even more hollering. There are shouted demands for another song. He begins to play, but the song he’s playing is foreign. He can’t breathe. The emptiness of the world closes in on him.  
  
He wakes up a few hours later to the sound of distant, choking sobs.


	2. The beauty that surrounds me. [Claus.]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Think Like a Machine, Not a Boy by The Flaming Lips
> 
> "Why, oh why can't you make me so  
> So violent and strong, but so aware  
> Of the beauty that surrounds me, the gentleness of love  
> I wish I could go back and be reborn  
> Once again"
> 
> [Chapter 2 of Arc 1]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Note - What is happening in this fanfic related to Claus is medically based, and not pulled out of my ass.]

The autumn wind whistled past his ears as he trekked through the forest, leaves crunching under his heavy boots. Lightning sighed to himself as he looked up at the chirping birds in the trees, then looked back down to make his path back to base. His helmet visor gave him all the information he would need about where their base was. That did not help the situation in his mind. In fact, it only made him more angry. In fact, he took off his helmet, carrying it under his arm for now - he’d put it back on once he got near the base.

Scouting missions were an embarrassment. They could have sent something less important than him. One of the pigmasks would have been a good choice. The area lacked any important landmarks, but one of the higher-ups that had received a tip that there were remnants of the resistance around this area. Evidently, from his fruitless search, there weren’t any.

If there were, he would have been able to handle them on his own, anyway. Lightning was not a scout. If the higher-ups were going to assign him to these awful jobs in the pits, well, f -

 _Pain._ The static hit him again.

This is what he gets. He couldn’t take anything back before - _there’s something in my head, get it out, fuck, it hurts_ \- he was crumpled on the ground. He couldn’t breathe. Or think, or anything.

Sharp pain in his head. _It’s so loud._ Shut his eyes tight. Seeing hurt. Everything hurt.

_Is someone screaming?_

_He can’t - he has to, he has to - not here, where is, why, brother -_

**Superiors are to be obeyed without question.**

_Is he okay? What did he do?_

**Superiors are to be o - o - obeyed witho - without qu -**

_What did I do?_

**Superio - Superiors - ob - obeyed -**

…

**Sup - Superiors a - Superi -**

…

It was going away. Maybe.

Being quiet in his mind was the best way to deal with this. Any thoughts that were bad thoughts made it worse. It was strange, though. The inserted mantra was usually coherent, not fragmented and warped. Not… like that.

There was still a ringing sound all around him, but things were coming back. The birds were back, he could hear them. He could feel the cold breeze on the side of his face that wasn’t pressed to the ground.

At some point, he returned to his body. There was feeling in his legs and his face. He could even feel his heartbeat. It was going surprisingly fast. He wondered why, before being hit with another pulse of pain and tensing up. After the pain subsided again, he opened his eyes.

He was collapsed on the dirt floor of the forest, his head resting on a small layer of leaves. His helmet had fallen from his grasp and rolled away a small distance, but it seemed to be fine. Somehow, he didn’t really care about what the consequences would be if he had broken it. That was a strange thing to think, but it almost made him feel some sort of… happiness. Was that the word? He wasn’t sure.

The leaves were beautiful colors - a vivid range of reds and oranges and yellows. It all blurred together at a distance, although it wasn’t in a bad way. The sky looked similarly beautiful, he noticed as he rolled onto his back and looked upwards. It was almost as if a film over his eyes had peeled away, one that had been there even before the chip activated this time. He wondered why, and this time, it didn’t hurt.

Stumbling to his feet, he stood, leaning back and stretching his arms as if they weren’t metal. Maybe they weren’t once.

No, wait.

They definitely weren’t once.

He was a kid, and he tripped, and he skinned his elbow. He was crying even though he was trying not to, but his brother helped. They went back to the house together and Mom made them lunch.

…How did he remember that? Was that even real? Maybe this was just the chip playing tricks on him, but it didn’t really seem like it. It had never done anything like this before.

Lightning had a family. He had a family. A twin brother, a mother who loved him. What happened?

He felt close to tears. He knew he could cry, given that they hadn’t taken out his tear ducts, but something wasn’t letting him. He stepped near his helmet - and immediately felt something akin to rage. Something he hadn’t felt since -

He closed his eyes, raised his foot. Brought it down on the helmet.

It didn’t do much, but he kept doing it. Eventually, the internal screen on the visor went out. There wasn’t any light emanating from it at all. He couldn’t destroy it fully, but that was enough. That would stop him from being tracked.

He had money on him. He had his training. If he ran away, he’d be fine.

Maybe he’d find Thunder again.

+

Waking up to himself sobbing isn't something that's _familiar_ to Claus, let alone welcome - his eyes are still shut, but he can feel fresh tears on his face and he can't breathe. He's choking on the air around him, grabbing at something to stabilize him without thinking and hearing his claws rip through what he can only assume must have been fabric, possibly his blanket. Briefly considering how Master Porky would react to him ruining a gift he gave him, Claus's breathing gets quicker and much more hiccup-y. He wraps his arms around himself lightly. He can feel himself tremble.

The thought occurs to him that this room does not feel like his room. Whatever he's laying on is not as comfortable as his bed, not that that's saying much of anything. The room is cold. Not frigid, but uncomfortably cold, which is likely why he's under the blanket he's under. He doesn't dare open his eyes yet, curling in on himself and trying desperately to breathe.

There's the creaking sound of an opening door, and Claus instantly tenses up. No one is allowed in his room, so this can't be his room. His eyes stay securely shut. Footsteps pace over to where he is from where the door must have been, and he can almost feel someone looming over him. There is a split second of silence between the two, Claus even trying to calm himself down enough that he isn't making any noise.

"Are you okay?" The man speaking barely pauses before adding, "Is there any way I can help you?" It seems like Claus doesn't have to tell him asking if he's okay is a dumb question, which is for the best. As he discovers in the next few seconds, he can barely speak.

 _"W - water,"_ Claus chokes out through choppy breaths. It sounds much more pitiful than he would have liked, but the man doesn't make fun of him. From the hurried footsteps away - one much more heavy than the other, he notices this time - he assumes that he's doing what was asked of him.

Pushing what he assumes is a blanket away from him, he forces himself to open his eyes. He's got his face buried in what he assumes is a couch pillow. Great start. Forcing himself as much as he can to steady his breathing, he uncurls his body and rolls onto his back from where he was on his side, looking up at the ceiling. This definitely isn't his room, and for a reason he knows damn well, he feels some sense of joy at this. It's fleeting, though - when the next wave of trembles goes through his body, he shuts his eyes again. It's all too much. He doesn't let himself cry again.

There's the same set of footsteps - hurried, but with one much heavier than the other, quieter than most would walk - approaching him. He pushes himself up to sit leaned up against the couch arm, opening his eyes once again. There is a kind-faced man offering him a glass of water. Somehow, he expected bottled. A cup is both better and worse - easier to hold, harsher punishment if he breaks it. (It's not uncommon that he does.)

He takes the cup gently - or, as gently as he can, given that his hands are oversized and clawed - and tries to calm his breathing. The man is still standing near him, although he's backed up somewhat, probably trying to give him space. That's for the best.

Someone in his head pipes up quietly, with a rather gentle voice. This is one of the ones that he doesn't talk to that often. _His name is Duster._

 _Why're we here? What happened?_ Claus thinks back, his breathing calming just a bit from hearing that voice. It's weird that he's that comforted by one of the others, especially one that he barely speaks to, but he doesn't question it. His life is already weird enough.

There is no response. Claus takes a drink of his water.

"Thanks," he mumbles in the direction of the man - _Duster?_ Whatever. Duster smiles a bit in response.

"No problem. I get nightmares. I think they're easier to deal with if you have help."

There's a light chuckle from the back of his brain. Claus barely stops himself from groaning out loud.

"Yeah. I don' really remember my nightmares." Even if he does remember last night's dream, he doesn't remember much of anything else. The last five or so years are a blur. Despite knowing why that is, it annoys him.

Duster nods. From the way he glances away, Claus can guess that Duster doesn't want to talk about his own nightmares, which is fine, given that he doesn't really want to listen.

Claus takes another drink, then looks around. There's a hole in his memory from him catching a bus after what happened in the forest to him waking up here, and it seems like he's not getting any answers from asking the others - the only one that's not silent is the one he can barely talk to most of the time, so he's not expecting much to come out of that.

"Can you - can you fill me in on what happened last night? I kinda... wasn't really there, mentally." It's not a lie. Duster gives a bit of a pause.

"I'm not that surprised. You looked like you hadn't slept in days." Claus doesn't comment, because he doesn't doubt that's not true. Everyone in his body is bad at keeping up with it. He can't really remark on the number of days that he's come to consciousness and found himself barely able to stand - not from sickness, but from the two that were around most often other than him simply refusing to not work the body they share half to death.

"You were at the club I work at," Duster begins, "and you looked bad. My sister, the manager, she wanted me to talk to you. I offered you a place to stay."

Claus nods. He isn't sure how to word the question of what name he went by last night. He is certain that it wasn't Claus, given that the other that he's talking about definitely has a name. He isn't sure what name, given that he outright refuses to tell him, but knowing would make this far easier. Before he can begin to speak again, Duster says something.

"You can stay as long as you want, Lukas. I don't have much, but you're welcome here." This is accompanied with another smile, possibly an attempt to convince him that he truly is welcome to stay. That also gives him an answer to his question - The other's name is Lukas. Mentally, he spells it with a K. Spelling it with a C just seems wrong on a level that he's not sure he can explain.

Despite everything in his mind telling him to run, he decides fairly quickly that he'll stay. He'll live with Duster for a while. After all, where else could he go?

+

So he stays.

About a week has passed of Claus being almost permanently on Duster's couch. Claus is sure not to eat much or be too loud. It may be unlikely that Duster will kick him out, but this is the only place he has. If he wasn't so dependent on this place for survival, he would've robbed Duster blind and ran away by now. That's what he tells himself, at least.

By this time he's met Kumatora, the woman who is currently milling about the kitchen and making them both some food. Claus doesn't need a babysitter, but Duster seems to prefer him being with Kumatora rather than being alone regardless. This is one of the days Kumatora has off, but Duster does not, so the situation here is obvious - Claus sitting on the couch, his backpack leaned up against him, a stupid game show playing on the television, and Kumatora humming something to herself while she cooks. He has absolutely no idea what she's making. She didn't tell him, just simply announced that she was "hungry enough to eat a horse" and was going to "whip something up, do you want any?"

Claus, of course, said yes, and he's been waiting on the couch ever since. The new clothes Duster helped him buy are far more comfortable than anything he'd been wearing before, although he does feel something is missing a lot of the time. There is an urge to empty out his backpack almost constantly, but it holds far too many secrets to have it open when someone is around. Still, he has it close to him, pretending like the contents are still his.

The game show man announces that the woman on the show has won a million dollars and the crowd goes wild. Claus really couldn't care less at this point, but it gives him something to do that isn't working out or attempting to read Duster's small collection of books on the bookshelf in the main room of the apartment, both of which he's done to excess this past week. Trying to sound out big words like "predicament" is not something that he enjoys, nor something that he wants Kumatora to see him doing, but it is necessary if he wants to try to read the books, so he just doesn't bother.

"Lukas!" Kumatora says, using more volume than she should be allowed to for such a small apartment, "Food's done."

Claus pushes himself up from the couch, grabs the remote from the arm of the couch, and turns the television off. The staticy cheering from the crowd is cut short. He walks from the living area to the kitchen, and is greeted with the smell of chocolate. Looking over to the plate on the table, he realizes that she's made chocolate chip pancakes.

Well, he can't say no to chocolate chip pancakes, especially if he said he was hungry earlier, so he gets himself a plate and silverware and sits down.

"So, Lukas -" Kumatora says, having already gotten herself a seat and begun on a pancake with all the enthusiasm of an eight year old at her birthday where she decided to have gourmet pancakes instead of a cake. It's funny to imagine Kumatora as a kid, given that she's so rowdy now - not that he can judge.

"Yeah?" Claus asks, considering very deeply on how one uses silverware if they have claws instead of hands, then deciding to simply hook one of the pancakes with a claw finger and hope it doesn't fall. Luckily, it doesn't.

"You're from Tazmily, huh?" Claus is silent, focusing very hard on his pancake. "Duster didn't say anything about it, but look at you - you're one of Hinawa's kids! You've got that face."

"I sure don't have her eyes," he jokes after a second, which earns a snort from Kumatora.

"Yeah, yeah. You do look like her, though, and I remember two little kids from when I was, like, thirteen? Lucas and Claus, right? Thought your brother had the red hair, but I guess I was wrong." Claus takes a bite of his pancake to stall. Once he's done, he has to speak.

"Yeah, I'm the redhead. I kinda remember you. You lived at Wess's house, right?"

She lets out a sigh. "Yeah. Until my brother and I left, at least. Wess was a bitch."

Claus nods as if that's consolation for the experiences either of them have had.

"Where'd your brother go?" Kumatora asks, and _that_ makes Claus freeze up.

"Hey, hey, we don't gotta talk ab-"

Before she can finish her sentence, he's already gone - physically, he's still there, but he tunes out everything, whether he likes it or not.

+

It's a a week or two later. Claus is sitting at a restaurant with Kumatora and Duster, staring out the window and waiting for his food to come out. It's not a great view, given that it's right next to a street and there isn't anything scenic nearby, but he's been feeling off for the past few hours, and there really isn't any reason he can identify. Duster and Kumatora are talking, but he can't really hear what they're talking about. Everything is a bit distant at this point.

Suddenly, Claus hears a voice.

 _What did Lukas do to get us stuck here?_ The Commander asks, clear as day in his head, and Claus sighs just a bit. Somehow, he had thought that the one who had been around the most in the past few years would just disappear once they got away from the pigmasks. Evidently, he was wrong.

 _He didn't do anything bad._ A car passes by the window, and Claus's gaze follows it for as long as he can. _He was just kinda... going with what I started, I guess._

_That isn't good. What will Master Porky think? He'll think that I deserted him._

_It doesn't fucking matter what he thinks! He doesn't matter. We won't see him again._

There is silence for a few seconds on Commander's end - sweet, sweet silence. Claus relishes in it for as long as he's allowed.

_What is your plan for finding Thunder if you continue down this path of rejecting what Master Porky has done for us?_

Claus's face distorts into a grimace slightly, and he isn't exactly sure what to say for a bit.

_I don't know. We're gonna find him._

_And I will drag us back to Master Porky by force if I must. Your goals are not my goals._

Claus gets up from the restaurant table and mumbles something out loud about needing to get some fresh air, then flees the building. When he gets out there, out to a bench next to the restaurant that he's certain is out of sight of Kumatora and Duster, he holds his face in his claws and tries to breathe evenly. It's hard when he can barely even think.

+

A few weeks, more than a month but less than two, have passed since Lukas's arrival, and Duster and Kumatora somehow managed to pry the information of their birthday out of Claus, thus resulting in a mandatory birthday activity. Claus had gotten to pick the activity, so they have that to blame for having to go to a crowded arcade and watch while Claus spent far too much time on a claw game to get a plushie of a goat just because he wasn't able to get it on the first try. That, however, is in the past, as he's obtained the plushie and they've sat down to take a break.

They're probably going home after this - or, well, Kumatora is going to her apartment and he and Duster are going back to Duster's apartment. Neither Kumatora nor Duster are stable financially, let alone well off, so Claus didn't expect anything from either of them. A trip to the arcade and some new clothes was more than enough. It had confused him at first that they were giving him gifts when he hadn't earned anything - he didn't do work or fight for them or anything, so why let him have nice things? It still baffles him, but he likes to think it's out of the goodness of their hearts that they're giving him things and letting him stay and being so kind to him, even if he's who he is.

Holding his goat plushie lightly in his right arm, he leans his left one on the table. "This was... kinda the best birthday ever. Thanks, guys. You really didn't have to do all this."

Kumatora grins. "Of course we're doing all this. You haven't seen the sort of shit I do for Duster's birthday! You're part of the family by now, we aren't just gonna ignore your _birthday._ 'specially your twenty-th! How does it feel being twenty?"

"I feel _old,_ " he says, chuckling a bit. It's hard to imagine himself at twenty, even if he is. He could drive if he had a license - and has been able to since he was sixteen, actually. It's just the matter of if he legally exists or not.

"Lukas, if you're old, what am I?" Duster says, getting a chuckle from Claus.

"...super old, I guess."

Duster laughs, and Claus feels safe - something that is altogether foreign to him.

+

It's about a month later. Claus is sitting at the kitchen table picking through a book despite his struggles with the words - who invented the word "audacious" specifically to inconvenience him? - while Kumatora sits on the kitchen counter and checks her phone. Duster has just gotten home and is putting away his things in his room, as far as he told Claus. When he leaves the room and comes into Claus's line of view again, Claus drops the book onto the table and looks up at him.

"Hey, so, you know how you don't think I should go out by myself?"

"Yes, but like I said, I'm not going to stop you-"

"What if," Claus says, taking on a tone as if he's happened upon the best idea ever intentionally for dramatic effect, "we fought and I showed you I'm strong enough to be out there?"

Claus follows Duster's gaze over to Kumatora. "You gave him this idea, didn't you?" When Duster says something along those lines, it's usually much more of a statement of fact than a question, and this is no exception.

"Mhm!" She responds, nodding, grinning. "We went outside in the courtyard and duked it out. Not because of us getting mad at each other, just for funzies. The win count was pretty much equal!"

"You did that more than once?" He doesn't sound mad, he just sounds tired.

"Yep! Standing score is 10 to 7."

Claus can't help but grin at Kumatora's scores. He's the 10. She wasn't using PSI, though - if they'd both been using full force and PSI, who knows who could have won.

Having new sparring partners is exciting to him, and to one of the others as well. Commander usually isn't excited about anything, so the man's enthusiasm for the fighting is almost infectious just from how rare it generally is. While Commander had wanted him to go full force at first, stating something about _the enemy_ , he quickly adjusted to Claus's policy of no attempted murder, especially when Claus explained that when you're not affiliated with the army, you do end up getting taken away to prison if you start a huge PSI fight in the middle of a city. Commander may want to go back to the pigmasks - he's very verbal about that at every opportunity, actually - but he's mellowed out a bit over time. Claus isn't sure if he's truly changed or just trying to make him forget his plans.

_I would like to spar with him. Let me._

It seems that now's the time to consider whether or not Commander is truthfully more calm now.

_Are you going to try to kill Duster?_

_No._

_Are you going to use PSI?_

_No._

_Then... go for it, I guess._

He hears Duster ask something about whether Lukas really wants to do this distantly, and he feels his body speak without him willing it to.

"Yes. We're sparring in the courtyard, correct?"

Claus is letting Commander do as he pleases now - for better or for worse.


End file.
